


Change the Equation

by The_Disaster_Tiefling (Akiko_Natsuko)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: (kind of), Angst, Choices, Death, Final Battle, Found Family, Gen, Loss, Magic, Memories, Mild (not really but just being cautious) spoilers for episode 56, Sacrifice, Self-Sacrifice, Time Travel Fix-It, Truth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2019-11-28 02:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18202154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/The_Disaster_Tiefling
Summary: It was all a lie…Caleb was on his knees, a numbness settling over him as he stared up at Trent Ikithon as his former master lightly swung the necklace that he had believed kept him safe between his fingers as he studied Caleb. The jewel catching the light from the flames that surrounded them, cutting them off from the rest of the battlefield. Separating him from his friends, and leaving him alone, and trapped with the nightmare that he was only just starting to realise that he had never escaped.





	1. Chapter 1

_It was all a lie…_    

    Caleb was on his knees, a numbness settling over him as he stared up at Trent Ikithon as his former master lightly swung the necklace that he had believed kept him safe between his fingers as he studied Caleb. The jewel catching the light from the flames that surrounded them, cutting them off from the rest of the battlefield. Separating him from his friends, and leaving him alone, and trapped with the nightmare that he was only just starting to realise that he had never escaped.

“Did you know Bren, that there is an inherent weakness in humans?” Trent was talking now, his voice carrying clearly despite the crackle and roar of the flames, and the shouts and screams of those falling around them, as the Empire and Dynasty clashed, unaware of what was developing in this tiny corner of the battle. Caleb wished that he could block him out, that he could stop himself from flinching at the use of his old name, as though nothing had changed, as though everything he had done as Caleb Widogast was of no import. But he couldn’t, the voice making him shiver as it seemed to wrap around him, calling to him, slipping beneath the surface as it had all those years ago. Not a charm, not yet at least, but the skill of a man who knew how to twist far greater foes to his side with nothing more than words. “There is magic in this world, greater than anything that can be taught at the academy. Greater than anything I taught you, and yet when humans try to use it, they baulk at the task.”

“Dunamancy…”  He hadn’t meant to speak, the words slipping out before he could stop them, and he felt sick as Trent smiled at him. No longer feigning the proud smile of a teacher, but instead using the one of a Master watching its pet do a trick that it should’ve learnt a long time ago, and the words that followed had him swallowing bile.

“You always were a bright boy.”

_“Liebling.” There were tears in his mother’s eyes as she pulled him into a tight hug, which he returned fiercely as he felt his own eyes beginning to sting. As excited as he was to be able to go and see the world beyond the village, to learn the magic that he couldn’t find in the few scrolls and books that passed through their narrow world, he was going to miss this place. Sniffling slightly as her arms tightened around him, her voice suspiciously thick as she kissed his cheek and murmured. “My bright spark, I’m going to miss you.”_

_“I’ll come and visit,” he whispered in reply, looking up to include his father in that statement. Before adding as brightly as he could manage with the lump that had risen at the sight of his usually stoic father wearing a sad smile. “I’ll be able to show you all the magic I’ve learnt.”_

     Pain dragged him back to the present, and he found himself slumped to one side, one cheek stinging fiercely, and stunned he lifted trembling fingers to it, feeling blood beneath his touch as he looked up at Trent. The smile from seconds ago was gone, and there was a magical pressure building around them that had Caleb swallowing nervously, remembering with no small amount of terror the few times he had felt the full force of that magic. However, after a moment of hovering ominously barely an inch from his skin, the magic pulled back, and Trent merely arched an eyebrow at him. “Pay attention now Bren, after all, this is the most important lesson you will ever learn.” Numb relief had Caleb nodding, earning him a rough pat against his injured cheek before the older man pulled away, and began to pace as he always had when lecturing.

“Now as I was saying, there is an inherent human weakness. Some instinct that makes us fear to use such magic,” Trent continued as though there had been no interruption. “Even I have felt it.” That caught Caleb’s attention as he heard the frustration in the admission, and his hand that had fallen away from his cheek curled into a fist. _Is this my opening…?_ The magic, the fruit of his decision before the Bright Queen, seemed to swell beneath his skin, an alluring siren call as it pleaded with him to let it go, but he held on tight.

_Not yet, not until I know the truth…_

    He doubted that there was anything that he would learn that could change what he needed to do, the plan that had driven him this far, but he wanted to at least know the truth. And so, he reigned in the magic and kept his expression as calm as he could with terror and anticipation coursing through him with equal measure, making sure to frown when Ikithon glanced at him. As though he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing, and he wasn’t sure that he did, unable to imagine Trent fearing any form of magic. “I have mastered parts of it, as I’m sure you saw back in Zadash.” The words so calmly delivered, were like a physical blow. Further confirmation that he had never been hidden, that he had never been free, and the urge to throw up intensified, and he had to lock himself into place, not daring to move.

    Ikithon looked almost disappointed at his lack of reaction, before shaking his head and continuing, the frustration bleeding back into his voice. “Yet, there are still aspects of Dunamancy that are beyond me, some part of me blocking me from utilising it. At first, I thought that it could be overcome, that if a human body were modified enough, it would allow them to use those spells.” Caleb looked down at that, unable to stop himself from reaching for one scarred arm and flinching at the chuckle that greeted the action. “Yes, those crystals were one of many attempts to break through that human instinct. A failure, although it certainly produced other results.”  Caleb thought back to Eodwulf fighting with a strength that no human should have until they’d been forced to all but obliterate him to put him down, and to the way Astrid had danced through the battle, almost untouchable as spells seemed to soak into her skin. _Other results indeed…_

“But it wasn’t enough was it?” He asked, finally finding his voice. The words almost lost as an explosion rocked the ground beyond where they were, and for a moment his heart seemed to stop as he saw Fjord and Yasha who had been trying to keep both sides away from them go flying. However, they seemed to recover quickly enough, Yasha moving to cover Fjord as he downed a healing potion, before sending four bolts of Eldritch Blast into the guards that had accompanied Trent. His attention shifted back to Ikithon just in time to catch the glimmer of anger, before it could be masked, and it was a small triumph, but one that he was happy to claim, as there was little enough in his favour at the moment.

“No.” The word came through gritted teeth before Ikithon regained his calm and continued as though the slip had never happened. “The students I tested afterwards were either unable to use the magic, some dying in the attempt, or driven mad.” Sparks danced around Caleb’s fingers at the dismissive tone. _He doesn’t care._ It hurt far more than it should have to be reminded that the man cared nothing for the students he had manipulated, or the lives he had destroyed, even though he had realised it long ago. “For a time, I let it go, working on creating stronger students. Children beholden to me, who could serve as weapons to the Empire. Just like you, my precious Bren.”

“I’m not yours,” Caleb snarled, channelling Beau for a moment and immediately regretting it as pain slammed into him, the glimmer of his mage armour doing nothing to protect him as lightning crackled around him. He screamed, twisting and jerking in the centre of the storm, tasting copper as he bit his tongue as he thrashed around, and it felt like a lifetime, even though it had only been seconds before the spell was lifted, leaving him sprawled and twitching at Trent’s feet.

“You have always been mine, Bren.” His lip curled at the hated name, but he didn’t dare argue at the moment, lacking the strength to try and avoid the foot that came to rest against his chest for a moment, pinning him in place. Reminding him of where the power lay at the moment. “And you will always be mine.” _No. Never again,_ Caleb thought fiercely, but he didn’t speak, and after a moment Ikithon sighed and removed his foot with a disappointed shake of his head. “I see some retraining will be in order, you’ve picked up some bad habits in your travels, and I can’t have a wayward weapon.”

_“I’m just a weapon, I’ll never be anything else…”_

_“You’re not a weapon.” Caleb had jolted at the quiet words, unprepared for Yasha crouching down beside him, having not intended to say those words aloud. Startled he glanced up at the quiet woman, who was watching him with pained understanding in her mis-matched eyes. “I’ve been a weapon, I still am to some extent,” her fingers brushed the symbol of the Storm Lord that she carried, but there was warmth in her gaze as she glanced at it. “So, I know what it’s like. But you’re not beholden to anyone. You fight with us, not for us, and we will understand if you can’t fight this time…”_

_I’m not a weapon,_ Caleb clung to that thought, watching as Ikithon began to pace once more, focusing on breathing deeply and hoping the pain would ease, as there was no way he was going to get away with downing a potion and he was too far away from Caduceus and Jester for them to help at the moment. Which was a good thing, even if it would have been nice to have the lingering burn of the lightning chased out his trembling limbs, as it was making it hard to focus on the next few words. Or maybe it was because he was still trying to convince himself that he wasn’t just a weapon, but eventually, he managed to focus relieved that Trent hadn’t noticed his distraction and punished him for it.

“…I sent spies to Xhorhas and further afield, gathering any piece of information I could find, and eventually, I found the answer.” Dark eyes focused on him once more, demanding his attention this time and Caleb did his best to focus, even though he was fairly sure that he had just heard a familiar voice raised in pain beyond the flames. “Do you know what most people, especially humans fear when someone mentions interfering with time?” Caleb shook his head, not because he didn’t have an answer, but because it seemed to him that there were too many possible answers. Remembering Beau’s uneasiness at seeing exactly what the Kryn were capable of, and the fear in Jester’s eyes when she had once tried to broach the topic of what Caleb wanted with magic like that. “They fear destroying their own existence. One little change and their own life could change completely, or even be eradicated entirely, and they fear it even if they don’t realise it. It’s that fear that need to preserve their own existence that holds us back. That stops us from delving fully into Dunamancy.”

“But, the Kryn…”

“They have moved beyond that fear, but even they are not immune. Surely you have seen how many have been lost to the madness that takes so many that force the magic?”

    Caleb shivered, both at the reminder that the older man had known exactly where he was all this time and at the memory of the haunting cries beneath the city as he had been shown the true scope of Dunamancy… and the price. Ikithon nodded an amused quirk to his lips at the reaction. “But it was in that madness that I found the answer because even those Kryn can use Dunamancy, and I began to wonder if it was possible for a human to be pushed to that point too.”  He couldn’t hide his reaction this time, it was too visceral, a full body shudder wracking him, the pain ignored as he bolted upright, fire building around his hands.

“You…” He didn’t get any further, the spell slamming into place and locking him into position, unable to move a muscle or do anything but glare at Ikithon, a leaden weight sinking into the pit of his stomach as he saw the fury on the man’s face. Realising what he had just done and cursing up a storm in Zemnian in his head, unable to make so much as a sound as Trent prowled closer, knowing that he was utterly at his mercy for the time being. Even more aware of how alone he was at this moment, as it dawned on him that the others weren’t close enough to help him shake it off.

“Bren. Bren, Bren, Bren…” Somehow the light scolding was worse than the fury he could see in Ikithon’s face, and he braced himself, waiting for the pain. Hoping for it, as it might be his only way to freedom, but it had been a fools hope because the older man stopped right in front of him. “You always did feel things too strongly, but it’s okay, I will help you with that.” Caleb was trembling, frantic denials bubbling up with nowhere to go, but there was nothing he could do but watch as Ikithon began to circle him, studying him like he was a surprise, a shiver working its way down his spine whenever the other man passed out of view for a moment. “But as your brilliant mind deduced, you were my test subjects. My first trial to see if a human forced to the breaking point, looming on madness, could push through that natural resistance, and how could I lose? If I succeeded and one of you broke, I would have my answer and potentially my weapon. If I failed, I would have loyal soldiers bound to me through more than mere loyalty.

_“He’s the monster Caleb, not you.” Beau was the first thing he saw as the memories began to fade away, and he blinked, startled to find that they had arrived back at the inn while he was lost in the past. Guilt made his stomach churn, knowing that they’d had enough injured people to do without hauling his ass back as well. However, there was no irritation in the words or her expression, as she studied him, and he wondered what he had said to make her say that. And what he could have done to make these people, so blind to his flaws. Trent might have made him like this and pointed him at his family, but he had been the one who hadn’t let himself see the truth. The one that had allowed himself be moulded into a weapon._

_“Yes, I am…”_

    He still believed that, and yet as he listened to Trent now, he couldn’t help but think about Beau’s words, and for the first time, he consciously let himself agree with her assessment. _He is a monster, and yet what does that make me?_ He didn’t want the answer to that, just as he didn’t want Trent to continue, although he needed him to, the truth looming over him, terrible and bright.

“And you broke so wonderfully Bren.” Fingers brushed his cheek, a grim mockery of a caress as Trent stopped in front of him and Caleb could see the fire reflected in his eyes, and all he could see was the house going up in flames… his parent’s screams rising about the crackle of the fire, and the grass beneath his knees as the enormity of what he had done struck home. “So, I took my other beautiful, broken soldiers, and I waited. Letting you shatter until the bright child was gone, and then I took you, put you back together and sent you out into the world to seek for the answers we both wanted.”

    Caleb was shattering now. He’d known. He’d known from the moment Ikithon had arrived, expecting to find him that something had been wrong, and there had been a dawning, sinking horror in the pit of his stomach when the older man had all but yanked the necklace away with a muttered ‘there’s no need to keep track of you anymore…’ But hearing the words made it a thousand times worse, as he remembered the woman who had ‘rescued’ him, another tool in Ikithon’s arsenal he realised now, and he was almost grateful for the spell holding him, because he would have fallen then as the weight of this new betrayal cut deeper than he’d ever thought possible.

“A broken man who wanted to fix what he had done could break through that human instinct, and look at you,” Trent stepped back, spreading his arms to indicate the battle raging around them, an artist revealing his masterpiece to an audience of one. “Here you stand, bringing me the answers I need. The power that will win us this war.” ‘Us’ sounded suspiciously like ‘me’, and Caleb knew that if Ikithon got his hands on this power, he would be elevated above all others in the Empire, untouchable. _No,_ he blinked furiously, desperately trying to tear at the magic holding him in place as that realisation hit home.

    He had his answers now, his truth, and never before had he wished so heartily that he could unlearn something, as it felt as though everything was crumbling beneath him. He was fighting with everything he had, clawing at the net trapping him into place, but it didn’t want to give way, seeming to wrap tighter around him. His desperation growing, as Ikithon moved into his space once more, reaching for his arm, and pulling the sleeve up to reveal the scars that now glittered like starlight against his skin, an almost reverent expression on his face as he ran a finger along the length of one, magic crackling between them. “My bright Bren, my human mote of possibility…”


	2. Chapter 2

_“My bright Bren, my human mote of possibility…”_

      Caleb shivered as the words curled around him, wrapping around him like a second skin, until it felt like they were ingrained his skin. That they had been tattooed on his body all along. And maybe they had been because some small part of him had known. He had seen what he could do with these new magics, had revelled in the fact that there was another form of magic that came to him as easily as fire did. A magic that wasn’t rooted in destruction and didn’t hold the power to cast his mind spiralling back into the past. At least not until today, as his gaze followed the path that Trent was tracing down his arm, skin crawling at the touch. It was gentle. Disturbingly so, as though the man was worshipping the starlight that glistened in his scars. The potential that now rested in his skin. A similar potential to the one that had led him on the path to the Academy all those years ago, the potential that had brought Trent’s focus down on his head.

The potential he had thought that he’d burned away with his own two hands.

     He felt sick, bile rising in his throat and he prayed that he wouldn’t throw up while the spell locked him in place. It was all a lie. He had convinced himself that things were different, that he was different, and yet here he was, facing the same situation he had been in all those years ago. His thoughts were dulling. A numbness seeping in. Memories clawing at the edge of his thoughts, flames dancing at the edge of his vision, smoke and ash coating his tongue.

Who had he been fooling?

Himself? His friends?

His family?

_No._

    It was the thought of the latter. Not of the one that he had lost, that he had burned to ash along with his potential on the word of the man in front of him, but the one that was spread across the battlefield around him that grounded him now. Of Nott who still believed that he would be able to fix her, who had made him promise to come back to her. Beau who had become his counterbalance, his anchor, his sister who had punched him and then hugged him before the battle had begun. Fjord who bore the twin to the mark on his hand but had become more than a possible opportunity bound by blood, who had promised, without blood this time that they wouldn’t let him fall. Yasha who mirrored his quiet, and whose storm echoed the flames in his heart and memory, his friend, his refuge amongst the chaos the others brought into his life. Jester, bright Jester, who had always seen the good in him even when he had been at his worst, and who had taken his hand, and told him that he wasn’t Bren just before he’d walked out to meet Trent. And Caduceus, deep, believing Caduceus who had seen the seeds of good in them, and nurtured them in his own way.

His family.

    The people who had tried to stop him from doing this, not because they didn’t trust him, but out of fear for his life, and who had ultimately let him go when they’d realised that this was a path that he needed to tread. They knew what he was and who he had been. But more importantly, they were as much a part of the potential and starlight glistening under his skin, as the magic that he had learned, and that was something he couldn’t, wouldn’t surrender to Trent.

“Bren.” The fingers that had been so gentle before tightened now, a nail scraping across the path of a scar, and even though it was long healed it hurt and burned in a way that it hadn’t for years. He blinked, the only movement he had right now, and found Trent staring at him, brow furrowed, and anger in his eyes. Caleb felt his stomach clench and churn. He knew what that anger could herald, could still remember the burn of it against his skin, and this time he wouldn’t be able to protest, or beg, or clench his hands so hard that his nails had broken through the skin of his palm. It terrified him, and yet the feeling as strong as it was, paled in comparison to the warmth that had spread with the thought of the others who were depending on him. A fire that healed, rather than burnt. “What are you thinking about my Bren?”

_I’m not yours._

   For the first time he actually believed it, the words a bright light in his mind, burning through the doubts and the terror that Trent’s words and touch had reignited. Deep down, he knew that part of him would always belong to Trent, that he had been moulded by the man whose frown was deepening by the second. Bren would always be part of him, he knew that now. Accepted it. But it wasn’t who he was. He was Caleb. He had struggled and fought, lied and pleaded, learned to trust, to share, to be a new person until he could say with buoying confidence that he was Caleb Widogast.

Wizard.

 Member of the Mighty Nein.

    The pain when it came was a shock. He hadn’t seen Trent’s lips move, hadn’t heard the words, too caught in his own thoughts, and then his body was arching against the spell holding him in place. It felt like every nerve and muscle in his body had been set on fire, lightning following in its wave, dancing against, raw, exposed nerves. He’d experienced pain before, too much to count, and so much of it at this man’s hands, but nothing like this. He was screaming. A wordless, broken sound that filled his head and drowned out all other thoughts, even as numb lips held still, only a strangled noise slipping out into the world. _Make it stop! Make it stop!_ He was dying. Being torn apart from the inside out, and right there and then he would have fallen to his knees, begged for mercy, and promised anything and everything to make it stop.

    It wasn’t stopping. Instead, it seemed to burrow deeper, stealing his breath, making him feel as though his heart and lungs were ripping themselves apart in his chest, copper filling his mouth, and he wasn’t sure if they had or if he had bitten himself. It was another pain amongst the storm, and beneath it all, he could feel a splintering. A weakening in his body. _I’m going to die_. The thought broke through the pain, startling in its clarity. It wasn’t a new thought. He hadn’t come into this thinking that he would survive, for all the reassurances he had given the other, but he knew that he couldn’t die yet, and yet he wasn’t sure that he was going to have a say in the matter. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. His mind beginning to shrink in on itself, darkness creeping into the space left behind and his eyes were stinging, a dampness that he couldn’t stop sliding down his cheeks. He was dying, and there was nothing he could do to stop it, and the defeat that washed over him, hurt more than the spell that held it in his grip.

    He didn’t realise it had been released at first. His body and mind gripped by the absolute agony of the spell, locked in place by the other, dying trapped in his own skin. It was only when the darkness began to lighten, not fading away completely, his body trembling and shaking, the sharp pain of raw nerves, giving way to a deep, unrelenting throbbing that he knew would take days if not weeks to ease, that he realised it had stopped. It brought small relief. He was still in pain, still trapped and when he blinked, clearing his vision as best he could, the world wavering and spinning until it came into focus, it was to find Trent watching him, a smile on his lips and triumph written across his face. He thought that he had won. Thought that the spell had broken Caleb as it would have broken Bren, but Caleb was not Bren, not entirely, not anymore, and he could and would bear more pain than that for just one chance of success.

    He tried not to let that show in his gaze, knowing that Trent was searching for a spark of defiance, looking for another reason to ‘retrain’ him, to break him beyond repair. His eyes had always betrayed him in the past, and he’d lost count of how many extra punishments he’d received because his doubts, his hurt, had shone through. But that had been Bren. This was Caleb. Talk to us, we can’t always tell what you’re thinking, Beau had told him once, and he prayed that was true now as he stood helpless under Trent’s devouring gaze.

“There.” It appeared that Trent was satisfied, smile deepening as he closed the distance between them, fingers coming to rest on his chin, the touch gentle, even as it sent a pulse of pain through Caleb’s aching body. “I don’t want to hurt you, my Bright Bren.” Lies, Caleb thought, remembering all the times he had believed those words, the nights he had laid awake blaming himself for the punishment he had received. “But, I need your obedience if we are to win this war, I’m sure you understand.” The words were slick and oily, creeping into the space between his heart and thoughts, finding the place where Bren had once clung to every word Trent had fed him. Now they found a void, echoing through his mind, but finding no purchase.

He wasn’t Bren.

He wasn’t a soldier.

    But he understood all too well because nothing had changed and it never would, in Trent’s eyes he was a tool, a weapon, one moulded to his hand, and that was all he would ever be to the other man. It was enough to have his mind trying to retreat, to hide from that thought, and what would happen if he failed now, but he couldn’t lose focus. Not now, not when everything was hanging on a knifepoint as it was, and not when Trent had released his chin, fingers returning to his scarred, star-touched arms, passing over the ruined skin with a sickening reverence. “Now Bren, let us see what possibilities you hold.”

   Caleb had known it was coming from the start, that it was the only end to this conversation. It didn’t make it any easier to hear, his heart a drumbeat in his chest. He’s going to destroy them all. He felt sick again, dread and terror pooling in his stomach. This was going to be Trent’s testing ground. It didn’t matter that his own people were on the field, or that they would die alongside everyone else that he had pulled to this place, forcing into a war that wasn’t the war he was looking to wage. They were nothing in his eyes. Just as Bren had been nothing.

Just as Caleb was nothing.

    That was his mistake. The crack in his armour, the flaw in his grand plan. Trent hadn’t changed in all this time, merely playing a long waiting game, and moving his chess pieces into position, and it hadn’t occurred to him that the pawns had changed. That some of them had found their own paths, and were moving from his side to the other. It hadn’t dawned on him that Caleb wasn’t Bren, nor was he the broken man who had fled the asylum searching for a way, any way to fix what he had done, and so as he moved, beginning to carve symbols in the ground around Caleb’s immobilised body, he missed the fire in Caleb’s eyes, as the pawn moved for itself. The wizard letting his mind flow out, seeking the one mind that he could touch, the one weapon that he could still use, and had been saved for this moment as he found Frumpkin perched on Beau’s shoulder and joined with his familiar’s mind.

_Help me._

**

    Beau had almost forgotten about the bird clinging doggedly to her shoulder, unable to focus on anything but the fight in front of her, as more than once she found herself swamped on all sides. She had grown up fighting – first against her parents and their expectations, later against the Monks and theirs, and then on her own path, but this was different. It was a war. And as she twisted beneath a blow that would have broken her nose, driving her own fist into her attacker's abdomen, before jerking her head up and cracking his nose instead, she decided there and then that she would quite happily never fight again after all this. She ached in places that shouldn’t be able to hurt, her hands bloodied and bruised so that every attack she landed now burned her too, weariness wrapping itself around her limbs, slowing her movements, and leaving her feeling as though she was moving through a swamp.

   That wasn’t the worst part though. No, it was the insidious doubts that grew louder every time she nearly went down, or the world was obscured by the bodies pressing against her. Can we win this? Will we survive? It was war, and she knew that there were always winners and losers in a war, and as much as she wanted to believe in what they were doing, she wasn’t sure which side they were on right now. But worse than that was that it was a lie. The whole war was built on lies and deceit, lives being wasted on the whims of one man who wanted the world. A man who had already broken Caleb once, and who now threatened everything she held dear, the family she had built around herself, and as she dove out of the range of another sword, letting Fjord who had doggedly remained at her side fill the space, sliding his own blade up and through the woman’s chest, she glanced around, searching for pink, and blue, and green and grey.

   She found them, the relief almost enough to crush her if she’d had time to let it. Jester and Nott had found a perch on some rocks, the ground around them thick with bodies, as more assailants crawled over them into a barrage of bolts and sacred flame. They both looked worse for wear, but at least seemed to be holding their own. Caduceus was further out, surrounded by swirling, ethereal bugs as he crouched to heal a Drow, and she knew from the slump of his shoulders that he had been helping as many as he could, pushing himself to the limit. Beyond him, she could just make out the towering form of Yasha, lightning and thunder following in her wake as she raged through the pressing throng of sacrificial lambs, trying to get back to them, and keeping as many of them away from the Firbolg as she could.

They’re alive.

    She refused to think ‘ _for now’_ cracking her elbow into the temple of a Drow who hadn’t recognised her as an ally, hoping that she hadn’t killed him as he dropped heavily, leaving her to deal with the Crownsguard who had been coming up behind him. _How senseless is this?_ She thought, ducking under his sword, only to have his shield slam into her jaw. The blow dazed her, the edge of the shield slicing a line of fire against her skin, and it was pure luck that she managed to swing her staff up just in time to parry his next blow. Dizzy and aching, she flailed, giving herself room to stumble back and fall into a defensive stance. He wasn’t giving her room to recover, pushing her back, searching for an opening in her defence, and in the end, she let it fall, abandoning all pretence of defensiveness as she lunged at him. A flurry of brutal blows later and he was crumpled at her feet too, although not without leaving her with another burning wound in her side, blood seeping into her sash.

    Cursing she pressed a hand to her side, knowing that she needed to get it bound if not healed or she wasn’t going to last long, but that would mean moving away, and Caleb… Shaking her head, still feeling dizzy, she turned to look towards where the flames still obscured her view of where Caleb had moved to intercept Trent. Caleb. Her hands tightened into fists at her side. She hated this. If she’d had her way, they would have all been with him. She would have been with him. She didn’t care that Trent was more than anything they had faced before, or that they might not having anything to stand against his magic, it was better than the thought of Caleb facing that nightmare alone. But it had been his choice, and he had all but pleaded with her to believe in him. _I do_ , she thought, just as she had said back then. _It doesn’t mean I agree with this, or…_

     There was a brief, sharp burst of pain in the side of her neck and she yelped, slapping a hand against it and blinking as Frumpkin cheeped in protest as he narrowly avoided being squashed before he took to the air. And there was an apology on the tip of her tongue, both for him and Caleb, who had made her promise to keep him safe and not just for the sake of their plan, but it died as rather than the beady, black eyes of the sparrow she found herself staring into eerie blue. “Caleb…?” She breathed, and Frumpkin trilled an aching, desperate affirmative, and she cursed loudly, forgetting about the pain in her side as she whirled around. “FJORD!”  They had gone over this enough times, that the Half-Orc just glanced at the glowing blue eyes and her desperate, twisted expression and nodded in understanding, as Frumpkin made another sorrowful noise before taking wing, soaring above the flames and hovering above a point they couldn’t see.

   Still cursing, and staving off another attack, Beau fumbled in her belt pouch until she managed to pull out some of her throwing darts. Forgive me. It didn’t help that this was what Caleb had told them to do, or that he was clearly in trouble if he had sent the signal, it still felt like she was turning against her friend. Still, she took aim, eyes locked on Frumpkin, praying that Caleb was no longer watching as she threw the darts hard and true, not sure if he was even within range. Not that it mattered, because the second the darts had left her hands, green, eldritch energy lashed out in their wake, chasing their path through the flames. Knowing that Fjord would have more success than she would, Beau moved back, shifting to cover him, as he continued to hurl Eldritch blast after Eldritch blast, until what felt like an eternity later, Frumpkin let out a loud, almost triumphant noise before disappearing from existence, leaving them to glance at one another, praying that it had worked before the fight washed over them once more.

_Caleb, please…_

**

    Caleb hadn’t been ready for the sight of the battlefield that he had glimpsed when he had opened his eyes as Frumpkin. There had already been so many people on the ground, so much blood and death, all because of Trent and his hunt for something that he couldn’t be allowed to possess, and he had almost lost his grip on his familiar as horror and grief, and guilt had washed over him. However, he had clung on, turning his attention to Beau, his heart in his mouth as he witnessed her almost going down, and he’d forced himself to wait, highly aware of the seconds ticking by, and Trent working around him, but refusing to distract her until she staggered back, a hand on the wound in her side. She needed help, but so did he, and this was their last chance. So, hating himself even as he did it, he and Frumpkin stuck their beak in the side of her neck, grabbing her attention.

“Caleb?” He or rather they, because Frumpkin was with him, closer than ever before, his familiar sharing his desperation at that moment, trilled an affirmative. _Hurry. Please hurry_ … he couldn’t see what Trent was doing right now, but he knew that he wouldn’t waste any time now that he had Caleb in his grasp, and that once the last sigil was in place, they would all be doomed. “FJORD!” She was moving, picking up on his urgency, and he wanted to hug her at that moment, but there was no time, and instead, he…they took flight, Frumpkin moving into position above him, giving them a point to aim at through the flames.

     It was disconcerting to see himself through Frumpkin’s eyes. He was a mess, Trent’s spells leaving him bloodied and ruffled, and he looked as though the only thing holding him upright was the magic keeping him prisoner. He hoped that wasn’t true, because if he faltered now, that would be the end for all of them.

   Pain forced him back into his body, and he blinked, vision caught between his own eyes and Frumpkin’s up above, leaving him dizzy and confused. There was a stinging pain in his shoulder, and he knew without looking that it was Beau’s dart – remembering the sensation from the time Beau had risen to a dare from Jester while drunk, leaving him needing Jester’s help and the monk apologising for days afterwards. Today he welcomed the pain, feeling the spell holding him weakening a little. Then there was another pain, this time on his arm, and he slammed himself against the magic trapping him in place.

    He must’ve made a noise of some kind, because Trent faltered and looked at him, and there was a moment where their eyes met, one of Caleb’s still eerie blue from the lingering connection with Frumpkin in the air above. “What are you…?” Fury swept over Trent’s face as understanding dawned, and then h was moving, his magic swelling, swirling around Caleb as he reinforced the spell and Caleb wanted to weep in frustration. No, not now. Just a bit more. He was desperate, pleading and praying as he fought the magic weighing him down. He prayed to the Gods that he didn’t believe in, to the Wildmother that Caduceus spoke of with such love and reverence, and whose name brought a warm smile to Fjord’s lips these days. The Traveller, who through Jester, had dragged them all into mischief more times than he could count. To Ioun who Beau rarely mentioned, but who he knew she spoke to when times were really rough and to the Stormlord who had given them the chance to get to know Yasha. He even sent his thoughts to Uk’otoa, willing to take all and any help in that instant.

His prayers were answered.

     Pain erupted up his back, and his world turned green as eldritch energy crackled around him. The first blast knocked him forward, Ikkithon’s spell wavering and he gritted his teeth. _More._ He thought desperately. Another blast hit him, and his vision went white for a minute, his entire body alight with pain once more, but he didn’t fall. _MORE!_ He screamed in his thoughts, feeling a splintering in the magic tying him in place. He wasn’t sure that he could take much more, but that had always been a risk and one that he had willingly taken. The next blast missed him, scoring the ground between him and Ikkithon slowing the other man’s approach, and Caleb blinked, meeting his gaze, finally seeing a hint of uncertainty in the older man’s gaze. And then another blast hit him. It burned, and for a moment the world was lost in a haze of pain… and then he was stumbling forward, a pained cry on his lips. Lips that moved, and curled into a tight, pained smile as he caught himself, one foot in front of the other, his body his own once more as Ikkithon’s spell broke.

“Bren…?”

“My name…” Everything hurt. The world to bright around him, but wonderfully within reach once more, each breath and thought his own as he forced himself upright, banishing Frumpkin with a thought, unwilling to risk him before he lifted his head and met Trent’s gaze without hesitation. “Is Caleb Widogast.” There was power in names. He’d said that to Nott once, not understanding how true those words now, but he could feel it now, a rising tide of strength in his chest. He seized hold of it, clung to it as he flung himself forward, even as magic coursed through his body, starlight dancing over scarred skin. Leaping at this one chance, this one possibility, terror and hope wrestling for control as his searching fingers closed on Trent, grabbing him, just as the starlight became starfire and swept over them both.

Then they were burning and falling.

A mote of possibility shining bright in the darkness between them.

 

  


End file.
